


The Monstrous Crying of Wind

by raspberryhunter



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Le Morte d'Arthur - Thomas Malory
Genre: Death References, F/M, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:29:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ygraine tells her daughters about her lost son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monstrous Crying of Wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Swords_and_Parasols](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swords_and_Parasols/gifts).



> Many thanks to vana_tuivana for a lovely and time-constrained beta!

I.

_"It's a boy!" the midwife exclaimed._

_Ygraine looked at the small misshapen head and felt -- not the rush of love she had felt for Morgause, nor the sense of relief with Morgan -- but rather a deep, stifling sense of responsibility for this infant, this child she had not wanted, the child of her rage and despair -- but he was not his father, he was not the wizard; he was an innocent baby, the child of her body, and she was his mother._

_Uther entered the birthing room. "A fine boy," Uther said proudly. Ygraine turned her face away from him. "Give me the child," she said, and the midwife laid him on his mother's breast, where he began suckling eagerly. Good. A child of anger, a child of pain, but still healthy, still with all the right instincts she remembered from her daughters. She drifted off to sleep._

_She woke to a memory of a baby's weight against her, but there was no infant there._

_"Where is my son?"_

_Uther patted her hand. "Merlin pointed out that due to the circumstances of the boy's conception -- " Ygraine translated that in her head as_ the war, the killing, the rape _\-- "his paternity might be called into question. He might not be safe from those who would want to use him against us. So Merlin has taken him away to a place where he will be safe."_

_She stared at him. The boy? My child, she thought. My baby. She wanted to rise up, to scream, to cry, to strike Uther down where he stood. With the ease of much practice, she calmed herself. Think, she told herself. I am still weak from the birth. Patience. I have hidden myself so many times, and I can do it again._

_And then she thought of the wizard. "I suppose Merlin will be overseeing his schooling," Ygraine said slowly. She felt another surge of anger that Uther could not see. The wizard, the _wizard_ \-- another of his plots within plots that she was caught in, had been caught in since before her son's conception._

_"Of course!" Uther said proudly. "He shall be as well-tutored as any child has ever been."_

Morgause listened, a horrified expression on her face, a protective hand on her own belly, which was just beginning to show. "Mother," she protested, "that's terrible! I can't believe you had to go through that!"

Ygraine contemplated her elder daughter. Morgause was a lovely young woman, glowing with health and youth and her first child growing inside her, tragedy the farthest thing imaginable from her. Ygraine ached for her; Morgause would be lucky indeed were she never to go through anything similar.

"How did you do it?" Morgause asked, eyes wide. "How did you get over it?"

Ygraine sighed at the memory of those first terrible days, and at the emptiness still within her. "It's not the kind of thing you ever really get over, I suspect. But one day at a time," she said. "You just -- go on, from one day to the next." And try not to think too hard about the days and years stolen from you. And try not to think too hard about the men who did this to you. And try not to think at all.

Morgause looked at Ygraine and swallowed whatever she had been going to say, instead sitting down beside her and covering her mother's hand with her own. Ygraine summoned a wry smile. Her elder daughter had always been full of careless, cheerful affection as a child, always needing hugs and kisses and touches, and always ready to give away the same; she was glad this had not changed.

"We must all survive in whatever chinks and crannies we can," Ygraine said gently to her. "I wish it were not so. I wish things were different for both of us. But this is how it is."

"Oh, Mother," Morgause wailed, laying her head against Ygraine's shoulder as she had when she was a small girl. "You are so strong. I don't see how I could possibly be as strong as you are."

Ygraine stroked her daughter's hair. "I hope you never have to be," she murmured. "I hope it with all my heart. But I know you can be strong, if you must be. I know you, my darling. You will be able to do what you must do to save your children, should it ever become necessary."

(This conversation comes back to Ygraine, years later, when Mordred is born and there are frantic communications between Ygraine and Morgause on how to save him. Ygraine bribes the man in charge of the May-day children to save her grandson, but if the boy is to live, his mother may not see him nor breathe any hint that she knows he is still alive.)

> Then King Arthur let send for all the children born on May-day, begotten of lords and born of ladies; for Merlin told King Arthur that he that should destroy him should be born on May-day, wherefore he sent for them all, upon pain of death; and so there were found many lords' sons, and all were sent unto the king, and so was Mordred sent by King Lot's wife, and all were put in a ship to the sea, and some were four weeks old, and some less. And so by fortune the ship drave unto a castle, and was all to-riven, and destroyed the most part, save that Mordred was cast up, and a good man found him, and nourished him till he was fourteen year old, and then he brought him to the court.
> 
> - _Le Morte d'Arthur_ , Chapter XXVII

II.

_"Did you name him?" Ygraine realized she did not even know the name her child had, to think of him as he grew. Even that had been stolen from her._

_Uther avoided her eyes. "No one's to know his name, to keep him secret. There, there. You are overwrought. It's the way of things, after a birth. It's the best choice for our son. And for you, the best thing to do is just to rest and get your strength back and be a good girl. And you'll feel a lot better --" he leered -- "once I am able to comfort you in other ways."_

_There was no safe answer Ygraine could give. She closed her eyes, hoping Uther would believe she was asleep. Apparently it worked, because after a while he left her alone._

_Her baby was gone. Uther had taken her child from her._

_Where could she go?_

_She thought: Morgause is safely out of it, now that I've got her married off. But Morgan -- Morgan. She will not marry for another two years at least. She is still under Uther's authority. She must be protected. I have lost my son. There's no getting him back. There is no reasoning with or overpowering the wizard._

_But Morgan -- Morgan will be safe. I will not let the wizard claim her. I could not save my son, but I will save my daughter._

_Her breasts ached with the milk she would not be able to feed her son._

_Yes, she thought, dully. To stay quiet and meek and let Uther think I agree. The best choice._

Ygraine had known even when her younger daughter was in the womb that this baby would have magic and to spare, and she was relieved when the infant came out much like any other, without any visible mark or physical sign. But it was there for any who paid close attention: a slight shimmer in the air as the girl passed by, the whisper of music as she spoke; yes, Morgan was the odd child, the fey one, the one with the gift.

As Ygraine finished telling Morgan about the little brother she would not now know, she considered her daughter's thin straight frame, the face too narrow for prettiness but with a subtle beauty that was beginning to show through. In two years, Ygraine thought, when the girl was old enough for marriage, she would have no lack of suitors, and the thought made her heart clench: her last child gone, for good or for ill. But Morgan was different, Ygraine thought. It would not be the same for her as it had been for Morgause.

Morgan paced fitfully. She was always in motion, never still. "I don't like Uther. I can't imagine what it was like for you. Were a man to do that to me, I would hate him forever." 

"I don't hate him," Ygraine said firmly, "and I would prefer if you did not either. He is my husband, and the King. There is no profit in hating such a powerful man. It would do nothing but to make me miserable, and quite possibly dead. But I will confess that sometimes I am... quite weary, of pretending to be what I must." 

Morgan scowled. "It is not to be borne. I would not stand for it."

Ygraine knew that to be the case. It was fortunate, she knew, that Morgan was gifted in magic, for otherwise she would have no hope of surviving in this world. "That," Ygraine said, "is why you must attend to your magic lessons. For I have no great talent for it, but it runs in our line, and you show great promise. And when you come into your power, you will never have to depend on the whims of a husband or wizard. You will never have to make the kinds of choices I did." You will never have to sacrifice one child to save another. One of us will be able to be free, Ygraine thought fiercely.

"Never," Morgan echoed, nodding decisively. "When I grow up, I will never let a man have power over me, not husband nor wizard nor king. Never."

And then she widened her eyes; something had just occurred to her. "Mother," she said, "if I could use what I learned -- I know how to do many things now, with spells and potions -- I want to use what I learn to help you too. Because you have done so much for me. Even if the priests said it was wrong, it couldn't be wrong, could it, to help my mother, to do away with an evil person who did so much wrong to her?"

"No, my darling," Ygraine answered at once. "I am your mother, and I love you, and I want to do all I can to protect you. I would never ask such a thing of you."

But she thought Morgan did not seem convinced. 

(Ygraine remembers this, two years later, when Morgan comes back from school for her betrothal to King Uriens, and at the same time Uther falls grievously ill in a way the doctors and herbalists cannot cure. Ygraine wonders whether she is damning herself or simply taking her self back by saying nothing of her suspicions either to Uther or to her daughter, who gravely watches them both.)

> Then within two years King Uther fell sick of a great malady... and therewith he yielded up the ghost, and then was he interred as longed to a king. Wherefore the queen, fair Igraine, made great sorrow, and all the barons.
> 
> - _Le Morte D'Arthur_ , Chapter IV

**Author's Note:**

> Where there is a difference between Malory and other traditions, I have almost completely followed Malory (so, for example, Morgause is rather nicer than many other traditions paint her *cough*thanks a lot, T.H. White*cough*). The only exception is that Malory posits a third sister, Elaine, who then completely disappears from the narrative; I've taken the liberty of assuming she is an interpolation and not considered her here.
> 
> The title is from W.B. Yeats' poem "To a Child Dancing in the Wind."


End file.
